Chapter 6 - Forty-Eight Hours
I slept for fifty-three minutes that night.
I know because the new phone recorded the time every time I checked it.
12:18.
12:41.
1:07.
1:56.
2:49.
By morning, my fear had become something sharper.
Work.
Naomi arrived at the shelter at 7:30 with two legal pads, a laptop, and coffee I forgot to drink.
“We have two days,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then we use every hour.”
She laid out the petition Eric had filed.
Seeing his words on paper made me nauseous.
Petitioner states Respondent has displayed increasingly erratic behavior following childbirth.
Respondent has screamed without provocation.
Respondent has physically attacked Petitioner while he attempted to care for the minor child.
Respondent may pose a danger to herself and the infant.
I looked at Naomi.
“He wrote this like he’s concerned about me.”
“That’s intentional.”
“He hates me.”
“He doesn’t need the judge to know that.”
Then I reached Janice’s declaration.
I read the first paragraph twice.
I have personally witnessed Hannah become irrational and aggressive since the birth of my grandson.
The second paragraph was worse.
On the evening in question, I observed Hannah strike my son while he was attempting to assist the baby, then collapse while screaming accusations.
I laughed.
I could not help it.
Naomi watched me carefully.
“She stood there while he hit me.”
“I know.”
“She heard me ask her to call for help.”
“I know.”
“She said we were supposed to take his anger.”
“I know.”
“And she signed this.”
“Yes.”
The signature was dark blue.
I hated it.
“What happens if the judge believes them?”
“We make that difficult.”
Naomi opened a folder.
She had photographs from the hospital.
Bruising along my jaw.
A split lip.
Marks on my upper arms.
She had Miles’s medical report describing neck discoloration and bruising.
She had the temporary protective order.
She had a summary of the 911 recording.
She had confirmation that server backups preserved the nursery clips.
But the actual clips had not yet been formally authenticated for court.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we may not be able to use all of them at the emergency hearing.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because courts have rules.”
“Eric did not follow rules when he put his hands on our son.”
“No.”
Naomi’s voice stayed calm.
“But I need to.”
I hated that too.
We spent the morning building a timeline.
The first time Eric shoved me.
The first time he punched a wall beside my head.
The first time he grabbed my throat.
The urgent care visit.
The pregnancy incident.
The night Miles was born.
The formula arguments.
The diaper counting.
The nursery door incident.
The emergency call.
Every event looked worse when placed beside the others.
I had survived them one at a time.
The timeline forced me to see them together.
At noon, my employer called.
I worked in billing administration for a regional medical supplier.
My supervisor, Karen, knew I was in the hospital but not why.
I told her I had experienced a family emergency and needed medical leave.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “Take what you need.”
I nearly cried.
But before we ended the call, she added something strange.
“Hannah, did you change your direct deposit?”
I sat up.
“Not yet.”
“There was a request this morning.”
My skin went cold.
“What request?”
“To redirect your payroll deposit.”
Naomi was across the table from me.
I put the call on speaker.
Karen explained that someone had logged into the employee portal using my credentials and entered a new bank account.
The change had been flagged because the IP location differed from my usual login.
“Was it approved?” Naomi asked.
“No.”
“Can you preserve the login information?”
“Yes.”
“Please do.”
When the call ended, I stared at Naomi.
“Eric knows my password.”
“Change every password you can think of.”
“He’s trying to take my paycheck.”
“Or someone with your credentials is.”
“Stop talking like Detective Cole.”
She gave me a thin smile.
“It keeps me employed.”
We changed my email password.
My payroll password.
My cloud storage password.
My shopping accounts.
My credit card logins.
Then we tried the joint bank account.
The password did not work.
I reset it through my email.
The account opened.
The balance made no sense.
Three days earlier, there had been more than twelve thousand dollars in checking and savings combined.
Now there was $486.17.
I stared at the screen.
“Where did it go?”
Naomi leaned over.
There were two transfers.
One for $7,500.
One for $4,200.
Both had gone to an account ending in 9914.
The name on the recipient account was hidden in the online view.
The transfers had been made at 6:11 that morning.
“He took everything.”
Naomi photographed the screen.
“We’ll get records.”
“How am I supposed to buy anything?”
“You have shelter support.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
I stood up and started pacing.
“He tried to take my paycheck after taking the savings.”
“Yes.”
“He files for custody after choking our son.”
“Yes.”
“He gets to go home while I hide.”
“For now.”
I turned on her.
“I am so tired of that phrase.”
Naomi did not flinch.
“Then help me change what happens next.”
That stopped me.
She pointed toward the laptop.
“Sit down.”
I did.
We kept working.
By evening, Detective Cole called with another piece of information.
The missing handgun had been located.
Relief came first.
Then suspicion.
“Where?”
“In Eric’s car.”
I frowned.
“You searched it before.”
“We did.”
“Then how is it there now?”
Cole paused.
“It was discovered in the trunk after a second search based on new information.”
“Was it there the first time?”
“We don’t know.”
Naomi looked at me.
“Who had access to the car after Eric was released?”
Cole answered.
“According to Eric, his mother.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Is he in trouble for the gun?”
“That depends on timing and possession.”
Again, the system wanted facts more than feelings.
I was learning.
That night, Megan and I went through every account I could remember.
Streaming services.
Online shopping.
Photo storage.
Utilities.
Insurance.
The pediatric portal.
Even the grocery store rewards account.
Eric’s email appeared as a recovery address on three accounts I believed were mine alone.
His phone number was attached to my credit monitoring profile.
He had administrative access to our shared cloud photos.
The discoveries were not individually dramatic.
Together they felt like fingerprints on every doorknob.
Megan sat beside me changing passwords while I fed Miles.
“How did he get into all of this?” she asked.
“I let him.”
“No.”
“I did.”
“You trusted your husband.”
“That sounds worse now.”
“It shouldn’t.”
I looked at her.
“Trust is not consent to surveillance.”
The sentence sounded like something Naomi would say.
Megan smiled faintly.
“I’ve been listening.”
We created a new email account Eric had never seen.
We changed the recovery questions to answers he could not guess.
I froze when one website asked for my childhood best friend.
Eric knew that.
My first car.
He knew that too.
Mother’s maiden name.
Of course he knew it.
The normal architecture of identity verification suddenly seemed designed for spouses.
Naomi later recommended using random answers stored securely rather than truthful ones he could predict.
By midnight, my digital life belonged slightly more to me.
It was exhausting work for something I had assumed marriage guaranteed automatically.
Before sleeping, I checked the new bank account again.
Balance: $0.
It should have frightened me.
Instead, the empty account felt cleaner than the joint account full of missing money.
It was mine.
The first deposit would be mine.
For the first time in years, no one else would decide what I was allowed to spend from it.
The next morning, a child protection investigator came to the shelter.
Her name was Teresa Hall.
She was polite.
That did not make the interview easier.
She asked whether I had ever left Miles alone with Eric.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Short periods.”
“Did you know he had been violent before?”
“With me.”
“Did you believe he might hurt the baby?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because admitting the truth meant admitting something worse.
“I thought he loved Miles.”
Teresa’s expression softened but remained professional.
“People can claim love and still be unsafe.”
I looked at the floor.
“I know that now.”
Then she asked the question I had been dreading.
“If the court orders supervised contact between Eric and the baby, will you comply?”
Every part of me wanted to say no.
Naomi had prepared me.
“I will comply with lawful court orders while asking the court to keep Miles safe.”
Teresa nodded.
That answer felt like swallowing broken glass.
After the interview, Naomi received an email from Eric’s attorney.
She read it twice.
“What?”
“He is offering a temporary agreement.”
My stomach tightened.
“What agreement?”
“You keep physical custody of Miles.”
I stared at her.
“That sounds good.”
“There’s a condition.”
Of course there was.
“You must withdraw the protective order as it relates to Eric contacting you.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“And agree that the incident was a mutual domestic dispute rather than an intentional assault on the child.”
I stopped laughing.
“He wants me to lie.”
“He wants language that helps him in the criminal case.”
“No.”
“I agree.”
“No negotiation.”
“I agree.”
“No conversation.”
“I agree.”
Naomi closed the laptop.
“Then tomorrow we go to court.”
That night, I placed Miles in the bassinet and watched him sleep.
Forty-eight hours had once felt like a countdown.
Now there were only ten left.
At 9:03 p.m., Naomi called again.
I answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“We received Eric’s witness list.”
“Janice?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
There was a pause.
“Your former therapist.”
I sat down slowly.
“I saw her twice after Miles was born.”
“I know.”
“She can’t tell them what I said.”
“Generally, privileged communications are protected.”
“Then why is she on the list?”
Naomi’s voice became colder.
“Because Eric’s petition claims you threatened to harm yourself during a session.”
I stood up.
“I never said that.”
“I believe you.”
“How would he even know I went?”
Another pause.
Then Naomi asked a question that made my stomach drop.
“Hannah, who scheduled those appointments for you?”
I remembered the first appointment.
I had been too exhausted to make the call.
Eric had said he would handle it.
My hand tightened around the phone.
May you like
“He did.”
